


A'den be'kara

by GraceEliz



Series: Buir Fox [2]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Buir Fox, F/M, Gen, Order 66 gets avoided, Riyo is buir now, mostly everybody lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:01:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25618528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GraceEliz/pseuds/GraceEliz
Summary: “Good soldiers follow orders,” he rasps, but she doesn’t need to see his face. His tears are audible in the thickness of the plea, in the shudder of his other hand – the hand marked in blood, oh little gods, the blood of their ade where he caught Eli’s cheek.
Relationships: CC-1010 | Fox & Original Clone Trooper Character(s), Riyo Chuchi/CC-1010 | Fox
Series: Buir Fox [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1857178
Comments: 22
Kudos: 80





	A'den be'kara

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in one day.

“Stop it,” she begs, tears streaming down her eyes – her sparkling eyeliner leaves marks on her hands when she wipes them away, unable to risk tearing her gaze from her Commander. “Fox, stop this, please.”

Her lover, her husband in every way except the traditional certificate of the regime they both serve, raises his blaster once more. To her, this time, the barrel gleaming dully under the artificial light. “Good soldiers follow orders,” he rasps, but she doesn’t need to see his face. His tears are audible in the thickness of the plea, in the shudder of his other hand – the hand marked in blood, oh little gods, the blood of their ade where he caught Eli’s cheek. 

“Buir?” asks Eli, terrified, and young, so young.

“Stay behind me,” Riyo sobs, not taking her eyes from his, “I love you.”

Fox takes a step closer, backing them into a corner, but she will not go. She would die for him, for their ade, for any of the Vode, but not like this. Riyo Chuchi is going to die ancient, in her bed, knowing her family is happy. Not backing towards the wall of her office away from her husband with two of their ade hunched behind her. She has too much left unfinished. 

“You’re being controlled,” she begs, reaching a trembling blue hand to him as if she can call the good man she knows is in there to her. “Please, my love, ner cyar’ika, stop!”

He stills, shaking minutely. “Riyo,” he begs of her, the blaster still pinpoint-steady between her brows, but she does not know what he’s begging for. 

She falls to her knees, praying he will focus on her and not on their sons, not on the soul-deep terror she knows they can’t hide. “Remove your helmet, Fox,” she says, staring up at his towering white-and-red form. Beneath her, the beading of her skirts digs into her kneecaps. “Look at me when you kill me.” He flinches violently. 

By some miracle she doesn’t shiver when he does as she asked, when his greying fox-pelt hair is revealed, his amber eyes darkened and distanced by the creature playing in his brain. All the little lines on his skin seem chasm-deep, here, in this private place as the world burns around them. His lips – those gentle lips, lips that trace her skin, that press kisses to scabbed knuckles – are tremulous in his fear. “Riyo.” Like gorges the twine frown-lines of his brows deepen and lengthen. 

She manages a weak sort of smile, knowing her eye make-up must be trailing down her cheeks and her lashes must sparkle with tears. “I’m here.”

“Where am I? Why am I in your office?” he demands, breath quickening oh-so-slightly. If he trembles so, she wonders in morbid horror, what do the boys see? Do they see the monster in their buir’s body, raising his blaster to them? The monster that lashed with a blade at them? Do they see a broken man?

Can they still see their buir at all?

“You’re safe,” she promises. She blows her hair out of her face. “What do you remember?”

He frowns helplessly down at her. “I can’t move my hand,” he rasps, “I can’t – I can’t stop this, you have to run, to take ner cyare’se and run and stay away from the Jetii, understand? Run.”

Lio makes some broken noise behind her. What must this be doing to him? To the youngest of the Guard, to the one stabbed by a man who cared nothing for him, to see his buir slashing at them? She shoves her hands behind her, curling her small fingers tight around his. “No, I won’t leave you.” Gloved fingers sneak into her other hand, the tips pressing gently on her palm. They’re so gentle, still, even now, even though she’s seen them fight at full strength and knows that with a startle Lio could break every bone in her hand and wrist. 

“You have to,” he says, voice so low and dry and grieved. “Ree, this is the end.”

The end of what? Certainly, she will not allow it to be the end of them. 

“What do I do? How do we fix this?”

Fox’s amber gaze drifts from her to his ade cowering behind her, a wealth of grief she can’t imagine welling up. Tears begin trickle from his right eye. “You can’t.”

No, this cannot be. “I must,” whispers the woman, “I love you too much to let this happen.” Behind her, Eli sobs, hastily muffling the noise – maybe in his fist, or maybe it’s Lio holding him in tight to his chestplate. The blaster trembles, but he resettles his feet, shoulders still so strong. ARC training never fades, once learned, she knows; there is nothing to make Commander Fox anything less than an apex predator. His heart can be shattered, and he will still aim true. 

Finally, after what feels like years, the blaster falls with a heavy clunk, a finality, making her flinch. “How do you feel about murder,” he asks her in a choked rasp.

Riyo sobs. “Anything,” she swears. Fox kneels in front of her. Even here, she is small – so small, against him. He is her strength, her protection, her hiding place; he is a broken father and guilty lover. “I love you.”

He bows forwards until his brow just brushes hers. A kiss. “You shouldn’t.”

“I do.”

Lio squeezes her hand tight, still crouched behind her. “Buir?”

Fox releases a shuddering breath, his shoulder curling in shame. “Ad.”

The two batchers shift their weight forward, Lio’s head just and so breaching her range of vision with soft dark curls. Her heart clenches for an instant before she forcibly calms: there is no threat, they are safe. “Buir?”

“Ni ceta,” whispers Fox, broken. He is the image of a broken man. “Ni ceta, ner ade, ner riduur, ni ceta.”

Lio topples, falling into the hard blood-marked armour.  
“K’uur, Buir, ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.”

It takes her a moment to get a sense of the translation of what her riduur and ad just said, but – he is sorry, and Lio loves him, and that is enough. Eli presses his hand into her back, craving reassurance, so she half-turns, pulling him into her arms. His buzzcut rasps gently against her lips. 

“Come on,” whispers Fox, rising, “we need to move.”

Eli clings to her like a child. “Where?”

Amber eyes go distant, calculating. “Let’s kill the Chancellor.”

“What in the name of the Stars?”

When he smiles, it shows his sharp canines. Alright then, she thinks, squaring her shoulders. Alright then. Never let it be said that Riyo Chuchi backs away from the path of righteousness. Eli and Lio form up behind her, following Fox out of the room. The Senate halls are eerily silent. 

“What’s happening?”

“I don’t know,” Fox answers her quietly, “but I don’t like it.” He fiddles with his wrist-comm, peeking around the corner. Chancellor Palpatine’s office is up the next staircase. “Rex.”

“Fox? Kara’vor’e, have you,” the little blue holo of his kih’vod starts to say, but Fox interrupts.

“Get away from Coruscant. Do not allow your Jedi near the Vode, do you understand? Get in touch with Bly. There’s an override. Tell him, Aayla Secura is a Dark User of the Force. Tell him anything you need to to make him believe Aayla is Fallen. Have your Jedi tell Aayla that if she makes her boys believe she isn’t a proper Jedi, the kill order won’t work. Kissing Bly or some shit like that might work.”

Rex looks horrified. “Fox? What kill order – ori’vod, what kill order?”

“The one I think the Chancellor is about to launch,” grits Fox, crouching at the body of one of the Jetii sprawled in the hall. He isn’t dead, but she doesn’t think he’ll be getting back up. Can’t Jedi die of Force trauma? She doesn’t recognise him, but by the hiss her riduur lets out he must be an important one. The little holo of Rex is gasping like one of the little fishes in Bail’s office. 

“I’m going to stab a bitch, I’ll be right back,” and he slaps the comm off, sending a priority alert to Wolffe.

“Fox'ika?”

“Listen to me. You’re being controlled. The Jedi are not our enemies. The Chancellor,” and he has to say something to horrify Wolffe, and it has to be right, “is trying to kill our ade.”

Wolffe snarls down the comm. “The fuck he is.”

“I drew a knife on mine and held a blaster to Riyo.”

“The fuck?”

“I’m going to commit treason, you in?”

A snort. “Obviously.”

“Get your Jetii-buir to safety. I’ll be in touch.”

“Jate’oya,” snarls Wolffe, sounding almost giddy.

“Jate’oya,” and oh, she can see the ferality of the Clone brothers shining in the amber eyes she adores, the hair on her neck raising in a primal flight response. Hadn’t they told her that the CCs are a bit more wild, that they live according to the hunt, to laughter, to protecting their family? There is a word for it. Sereshoy. “Riyo, stay back, provide cover. Eli, hand to hand?”

“Elek, Buir.”

“Lio, opposite Ree.”

“Elek, Buir.”

She meets his eyes. “I’m part of the squad?”

“My squad. Ner’aliit,” he tells her gruffly, a warm thrill spreading from her heart at being claimed so. The blaster, the same one pointed at her forehead just minutes ago, is pressed into her hand. “Shoot to kill the Chancellor. Stun the Jetii.”

“Right.”

They approach the room, Riyo’s soft boots the only sound, just barely within her range of hearing. Fox is skulking, radiating power and control, his boots gliding barely an inch over the carpet, and if they were in any other situation than, as one usually does on a standard Friday night, committing high treason, it would be unbearably attractive. Voices echo out from the room.

“So, it’s treason then,” sneers the Chancellor. She shivers at the violent malevolence in the ancient voice. Master Windu’s voice rolls smoothly out of the door. Three, signs Fox, two, and they move, bursting into the room just as – is that Anakin Skywalker? It is, oh Stars above, he hacks at Master Windu’s hands, catching one at the wrist, and the terrible bursting from the Chancellor’s hands ends as the Chancellor cackles madly. Eli bursts in, blaster firing; he lurches at the Chancellor, only to be cast aside by the Force.

“Demagolka,” snarls Fox, “Oya Vode, bastard.”

The Chancellor’s eyes widen almost comically as the Commander dives on him, teeth bared, eyes flaring and reflecting the light. Screaming in pain, the Chancellor tries to hurl him away, but she can see – she can see her riduur has his teeth in the Chancellor’s throat, Stars above – 

“A’den be’kara da’hetti kaysh digu’kay’da, ge’hutuun.”  
_The wrath of the stars burn you until they forget you, monster._

The blade he always carries flashes in the rose-light of the setting sun, blood dripping crimson from his teeth to his white armour. Her breath freezes, as if she’s stepped out of her home underdressed, ice in her very veins. His eyes shine from within, shine with the light of the very stars. Whatever creature he has been suppressing – and she knew, she always knew that he was holding back, that under the tender whispers and guiding hands and even when he’s suspended over her in their bed he was holding back – is released, feral snarl and harsh pants. She staggers, the stress lifting off her, her knees weak. “He’s dead. He’s dead and we’re safe, yes?”

“Elek, riduur. Safe,” vows Fox. She shivers again, falling to the floor with a thump. 

Mand’alor,” she breathes, some untold heat rising in her. If she wasn’t already with him in every way, this would be enough to have her in his bed before the sun finishes setting. He snarls, and it echoes as if he is joined by all the voices of those who have marched on. “Ner’alor,” she says reverently. Mace Windu snaps his head to her, those dark eyes boring into her skin, but she only has eyes for her riduur perched over the corpse of the monster who tried to kill their ade like a vengeful god. 

“Mand’alor,” Lio and Eli rasp, their gauntlets clacking off their chestplates. Master Windu leans back against the wall, closing his eyes.

Knight Skywalker sobs from the corner, his eyes sickly yellow and blue, mingled together. “What was – I don’t, I don’t know anything – he made me hate, he was in my head,” the young man shrieks in rising hysteria. What else is she to do but open her arms to him, hold him as he breaks? Is he any older than her? All that pressure, all that power, and the monster dead by the shattered window has been poisoning him. Of that she holds no doubt. After all, she thinks, watching Fox hold his two sons close to him, whispering to them, haven’t they all been consistently abused by the bastard?  
Fox’s comm buzzes, distracting attention from the sobbing Jedi. “Wolffe.”

“What the fuck have you done?”

“I think I just killed a Sith,” says Fox, looking and sounding so surprised it startles a sob out of her. “The Chancellor was a Sith.”

There’s a long pause. “I don’t even have any words to say to that.”

“Me neither,” Fox admits. Master Windu huffs. “I also may or may not technically be the Mand’alor now, because I found this.” He holds up the dark-saber, then realises his vod can’t see it. “The darksaber.”

“Well, fuck me sideways with a lunchbox,” says Wolffe in wonderment. “You’ve got my full support. I’ll redirect to Manda’yaim, then, now you’ve cancelled the kill order.”

“It stopped when I killed him?”

“It did at that,” Wolffe grunts, and the comm buzzes off.  
Knight Skywalker sits up, wiping at his tears. “Is everyone okay?”

“Yeah,” Fox says. “We’ll be okay.”

And in the dimming office of a monster who designed a war, with the knowledge that men and women are dead but that no more will die, Fox’s words feel like vow. 

Later, much later, sweaty and spent and exhausted, tears drying on her cheeks, she presses closer to his hot skin. “So, you’re happy?”

He heaves a sigh and tugs the sheet up over them. “I can’t even imagine the work I have to do.”

She hums, licking at his neck. “Let me distract you?”

Fox rolls her into the bed, growling, sheet once more discarded, his eyes glowing impossible amber, and she grins up into the dark, because they’re now free. Free. And they glory in it, all night.


End file.
